The Doorway
by April29Roses
Summary: Merlin has only served Arthur since midsummer, but he is already sick of the prince of prats. On an autumn hunt, an encounter with a mysterious doorway in the forest may change his point of view.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It had been high summer when Merlin had arrived in Camelot. As he scuffed through the leaves, trudging behind Arthur on another interminable hunting expedition, it hardly seemed possible that autumn was upon the land already. It hardly seemed possible he had served the Prince of Prats for an entire season. But there was no denying the brilliant fading leaves beneath his feet and the golden, glowing light that flooded through the trees.

He tried to tell himself that his time as Arthur's manservant wasn't all bad. Gaius had been teaching him many things. He had begun to teach him about herbs, about how plants were related and how they were not. Once he understood what Gaius called the 'taxonomy', he had applied the same idea to magic. Information began to organize itself in his mind and Merlin's understanding of his instinctive magic was deepening. He had only begun to explore the intricacies of herblore and medicine, as well as the most basic of magic instruction. In the latter area he had already outstripped Gaius' ability to answer many questions, but he struggled with certain types of spells, to his unending frustration.

Many times Merlin suspected he was actually a cabbage head at the whole magic business, warlock or not, but Gaius assured him it was quite the opposite. He advised patience. Merlin kicked at the leaves. Patience!

His mentor's opinion was that his powers were so vast in some areas that he found it difficult to find spells strong enough to focus his strength without sacrificing finesse. It was the opposite of most sorcerers, but as a warlock was rare, there was no telling how to deal with Merlin. He was deeply thankful for Gaius' instruction and friendship. There was shared joy between the old man and the young as they worked at both his public and private studies. Merlin was struck anew everyday by the relationships, between the study of medicine, herb lore and the magical.

And then there was Arthur. Demanding, arrogant and puerile; those words fit the prince perfectly. Merlin's life had become a nightmare of lugging unwieldy armor up the stairs, picking up wadded up clothing under the bed, finding the missing vambrace because the prat had flung it somewhere in a fit of pique and then there was the polishing. After the unending stream of chores, there was always polishing and more polishing. And he had to see to the horses. And wash the clothes. And then whenever it was almost done, there was Arthur covered in mud. The crown prince was enough to drive any servant to complete madness. As he seethed through his chores, Merlin enjoyed thinking of new found vocabulary with which to describe the golden prince of Camelot. Puerile. Good word. Supercilious. That was good too.

The young warlock raised his head from the his view of the leaves. His master was up ahead. Standing at a natural curve in the forest as the hills rose and fell. He was looking off to the left. The servant wondered if he had sighted a deer, but Arthur's snort of disgust dismissed that possibility.

"I've seen old ladies in the market move faster than you, Merlin."

The prince said his name with that particular emphasis that irritated him the most. He suddenly felt the straps of his knapsack cutting into his shoulders as he hitched his burden upwards and heightened his pace to keep up with the Prince. Sometimes, it made him want to spit in the clotpole's drink.

"Yeah, I'm sure all the old ladies have to carry your stuff."

"You are the servant, Merlin. I am not. That's why you carry the stuff. Really, don't they cover this when you come to work at the castle!" There was laughter in his voice. He wondered if Arthur was being friendly but he quickly dismissed the idea; the prat was only laughing at his own joke. Narcissistic.

But his delight in the word and his irritation with the prince quickly gave way to another feeling as the object of Arthur's attention came into view. It was a stone arch, alone, in the middle of the forest. Looking like the strongest of doorways into solid building, it was not quite as massive as the castle gates, but large enough to impress. Behind it, the forest glowed. No walls, no roof, not even the remains of those things remained. Perhaps they had never been. The doorway sang with magic. It prickled in the back of his throat, it shimmered golden and bright. It smelled intoxicating in the slight breeze, the sweet scent pulling at his own power.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Arthur," he said softly.

The prince paused and looked more carefully at the strange gate.

"There are no Druid markings," he remarked as he strode towards the doorway. he placed his hand on one the stones near the edge of the door. Merlin's stomach clenched immediately in an almost primal fear, as if he was gazing down from a great height and Arthur was standing beside him unaware of the drop. He touched the Prince's shoulder.

"No!" He said louder than he meant.

"Must you always be such a petticoat, Merlin! It's pile of old rocks in the forest. There must have been a house here or something.

"Or something," muttered the servant.

Arthur responded by giving Merlin a playful shove. "Don't tell me you're afraid," he taunted. He shoved again, but this time unbalanced by his knapsack, Merlin stumbled backwards through the doorway. A wave of cold damp gripped him as he fell. Everything darkened around him as the cloying fog suddenly burned strangely in his lungs. He scrabbled in the leaves, his hands sinking into the dark earth below. Arthur was gone as if he never been and so was the doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Merlin vanished.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. One moment, his ridiculous manservant had been standing grumpily beside him, nattering on about his girlish feelings of danger, and he had only been hoping for a bit of fun, and the next second, Merlin was gone. He kept looking at the spot where his servant should be. The dark haired boy should be flailing like an upended turtle, his gangly arms and legs working until Arthur couldn't stop laughing. Merlin was gone.

Arthur's mouth went dry as he realized that only sorcery could have done this. He drew his sword and took a breath, plunging through the doorway, steeling himself for some nightmare horror of magic, but there was nothing. There was only the scuffled fall leaves and the idiot's name on his lips.

"Merlin!"

He turned again, looking through the doorway again, noting how the leaves glowed golden and the motes of dust shimmered in the stillness as they settled.

"Merlin!"

Arthur walked around the arcane doorway, but he found nothing and he felt foolish. There was no way to explain what had happened, and there appeared to be no way to find the servant.

Merlin. He seldom remembered the name of any servant. He had been horrified when his father had given the gawky boy the post of manservant, but there was no denying the Merlin had saved his life. He was a terrible servant, always late, mostly useless on the training field except as a mule for equipment; Arthur had quickly surmised the sword would never be this boy's weapon. Curiously, despite his ineptness in any battle, Merlin showed absolutely no fear. He was a puzzle.

Arhtur shook his head. What was he doing? The boy was gone and he needed to get back to Camelot. No need to stand here thinking.

He touched he warm brown stones. He recalled Merlin had been wary of him touching the stones, but truly, he felt no difference. Arthur passed through the doorway again, his hand still on the stone, but the outcome was no different. Nothing.

He thought about what his father would do when he heard the news of this incident. There was no denying, he already knew how his father would react. Uther would dispatch a patrol to destroy the doorway. And another faceless servant would take Merlin's place and the matter would be finished. Somehow that seemed horrible.

Maybe Merlin was dead already. The thought discomforted him. Arthur turned his mind from that possibility like the strategist he was, as he decided on his next action.

If the doorway was destroyed, Merlin might be trapped. Trapped. He knew nothing of magic, only of it's danger. Whatever had happened to his manservant, he had no idea how to help. Guilt lapped at the edges of his thoughts. He had shoved the boy on a whim and he had fallen into some unseen evil enchantment. The horror of the thought began to strike through him. For a moment he couldn't catch his breath. The surreal quality of the golden light and surge of adrenalin vibrated like the shimmering fall leaves, like his own heart in his chest. Shock passed, anger rose up, fear sucked at him. He cursed.

He would have to go back to Camelot and tell Gaius that Merlin was gone. Gone. What a spineless word to describe what had happened. The old man's heart would break on those words. He was not the only one to notice how Gaius had seemed to shed years in the season since the boy had arrived. The old physician's tongue had sharpened as he came back to himself; his observations had become more incisive and Uther had commented with pleasure, more than once, on the renewed vigor of his old friend. Merlin's loss ...

The thought stopped him again, lancing through him with a sense of shock, he would never have expected. He cursed once more, frustrated and angry. He was becoming a petticoat, he told himself. He stabbed his sword into the ground, with all his strength. It vibrated as the wind swept suddenly through the trees, leaves swirling around his feet and tangling in the crimson of his cape.

"Face me, sorcerer ", he yelled into the numinous forest. There was a singing quality to the sound of the wind in the trees, like a whispering, like the trace of a remembered melody. "Let Merlin go! He is only a servant."

But there was no answer as the minutes passed except the soughing of the wind that mocked his words. Arthur felt more foolish and desperate with every moment. He pounded on the stones, he called the servant's name, yet he found no trace of anything. Finally, after a frantic bout of pacing, he sank against the wall of the mysterious doorway. He knew he would have to start back to Camelot soon. His father would have the doorway destroyed. Never had his heart felt so heavy.

He cursed his stupid horseplay. He should have thought for a moment. Despite having been raised to suspect magic at every turn, having been schooled in the need to drive every aspect of magic from Camelot, when he found a mysterious doorway in the heart of the forest, he had reacted like a giddy six year old. Merlin had warned him and he hadn't listened. His recriminations did little to ease the anger that was building inside. He seethed. Destroying the door would seal his manservant's fate and his action would be forever beyond repair. Was he mad? What was he thinking? His servant was gone. Yes, already gone.

Regret twisted in his gut. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Merlin had been a miserable servant, but Arthur couldn't deny he would miss him. It was the way he talked , the things he said, the silent looks that said even more. Merlin told the truth and that was a quality that made him unique. When Arthur was being a pig with his food, he told him so. He spoke up when he pushed the knights too hard in training, and somehow he always knew exactly what Arthur wanted to eat. The boy's knack for that was really uncanny. Merlin talked to the prince, eye to eye, as if he was his equal, and the sheer audacity of that attitude had earned him Arthur's respect.

Unfamiliar with the strange sensations of shock and loss that reverberated through his heart, he told himself, he should make some final gesture, to the memory of his servant.

"Merlin, " he said softly, as if the servant might only be on the other side of the wall. He spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. "I'm sorry, Merlin! I didn't mean..." he stopped himself. A royal prince of Camelot should never apologize for his actions, echoed his father's voice. The familiar refrain clawed at the open wound of his regret. He was not his father. There were things a man must do in order to live with himself, whether he was a prince or a servant. He bowed his head, as he stood by the doorway.

We might have been friends, he told himself silently. It hurt.

The forest still rustled with the wind. There was the sudden smell of sulphur and then a flash of light. It flared so bright, he couldn't even name the color that engulfed the forest in blaze of power. Thunder rolled and skirled around the light, until it exploded in a blast of energy. Arthur dropped, insensible, to the ground and he did not move again.

The wind piled fiery leaves against the Pendragon scarlet of his cape; his golden hair caught the last light of the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The earth below Merlin's hands was dank and smelled of wet and rot. He crawled through the darkness, hopeless of finding a way out, in the oppressive heat. There was no trace of the autumn forest where he had stood only a moment before, when Arthur had shoved him through the doorway.

Selfish, stupid prat! He raged at Arthur's careless action that had thrown him into this dark hell. It was the silly action of a spoiled child, a spoiled prince too arrogant to acknowledge real danger when it was almost upon him. Merlin's questing hands encountered a splash of water.

A pool or a creek. A pool. The water was still as his fingers dropped into it's cool depths. There was no current. Without even an effort, his magic began to flow across the surface of the water from his fingertips, lighting the dank miasma around him.

It hardly helped. Despite the nebulous light, he could see virtually nothing beyond the silver blue circle of the pond. Just as in scrying, visions began to stir in the water. Colors. Sorcerous motes of gold coalesced as shimmering leaves.

Arthur was shouting at the trees, the wind catching his cape as the leaves swirled around him. He looked angry. 'That made sense,' Merlin told himself with a heave of bitterness. The prat had shoved him through a magical doorway, and now he was yelling at the empty wind, as if magic had to pay attention to his stupidity, and make it right. The sheer arrogance of the prince angered him more. Once and Future King, indeed. Destiny!

Maybe this was destiny. Destiny was a miserable dark hole where you could watch the ass who trapped you, walk away and leave you to your fate. Arthur was pounding on the stones of the magical doorway, this blows thundering through the oppressive dark, and to Merlin's shock, as he gazed ever more closely, he realized Arthur was calling his name.

The prince looked shocked as he turned away and began to pace furiously. Merlin knew that look. Arthur was upset, frustrated. He was always dangerous and capricious in this mood; part of Merlin was glad he wasn't there. But his heart smote him as he saw the warrior slowly give way to the man. He watched as Arthur sank slowly against the wall, the shock giving way to a pensive sadness that was completely unfamiliar.

Merlin could not look away ; he watched as emotions flowed unguarded across the prince's face. Emotions he had never guessed at. He saw regret. He saw a complex expression in Arthur's blue eyes; as if some strange happy memory possessed him; as if he was thinking of something that secretly pleased him. Then a bone deep, weary lonliness. And regret. Merlin was astounded. The prince was calling his name again.

But now he had no need to read his master's lips, the emotion that he saw was undeniable. Merlin was split open by revelation and it changed forever how he looked at Arthur Pendragon, for there was a soul aching regret in the prince's every movement, as he struggled up to stand by the doorway. He bowed his head.

He realized they might have been friends.

His head suddenly exploded in a thunderclap of pain. He gasped, his body cramping and trembling as he tingled all over with power, as magic leaped from the pool of visions and threw him hard against the glowing golden ground. Leaves swirled and eddied around him. The air was fresh, and it was night, natural darkness, not the cloying damp obscurity of the doorway.

To his horror,Arthur was unconscious, lying on the ground. His nose was bleeding and the secret warlock was terrified for a moment that the prince was injured. Merlin tried to move toward his friend.

"Arthur," he croaked, "Arthur, can you hear me?" He collapsed, his strength leaving him, as the echo of the thunderclap faded from his awareness. His eyes never left Arthur's face as he reached out to grasp the prince's hand and darkness drowned him.

He never knew if he awoke minutes or hours later, but the morning light was rising from the skyline. To his vast relief,Arthur was rousing, tossing a bit as he always did, before he awoke. Dried blood had flaked off his lip. Merlin smiled, realizing there was no permanent injury. He wondered how he was going to explain what had happened. His heart began to pound as he realized that Arthur might well realize that part of the magic of this strange encounter had been his own. But he could not forget what he had seen. Curiously, he felt deeply thankful.

"Up and at 'em lazy daisy," he drawled, his voice irrepressible with happiness and a rising mischief. Arthur covered his face with his arm and groaned.

"What happened," the prince asked at last, clearing his eyes of sleep as he stretched outrageously on the forest floor, for all the world as if he was in his warm bed at Camelot.

Merlin shrugged.

"Not really sure. But here we are."

Arthur suddenly grinned like a boy, as did Merlin.

"Don't say anything about this place," said Arthur suddenly, to Merlin's deep surprise and relief.

"Fine by me," came the soft reply.

"Let's go home, said Arthur, after a moment, picking up Merlin's pack and handing it to him, as he shouldered one of the other packs himself. Merlin gawped for a second and then swallowed his smile. It twinkled in his eyes anyway.

"Yeah, let's go home."

They turned toward Camelot, walking side by side.

Sometimes the most momentous things begin quietly, so quietly that no one remembers exactly when everything changed. Sometimes it is a moment as unforgettable as finding the fulcrum of fate in some forgotten ruin of magic. By some unspoken agreement, Arthur and Merlin never spoke of the strange doorway in the blazing autumn forest again. They never seriously investigated the intent of the obviously magical structure they had found, and strangely, neither did they ever find it again, although both of them searched for it privately and apart. It remained a mystery.

Unspoken,too vast and too extraordinary to be described, some moments are best held simply, in the silence of memory.


End file.
